Another Sleepless Night
by WooperPooper
Summary: Kyle can't sleep again, but thankfully the late-night antics of his friends entertain him. Kyle POV.


My house gets too fucking cold at night.

"Shit," I mumble as I crawl into my bed's blankets. Why did my dad have to be stingy about money and resort to turning off our heat in December of all months? Sure, it saved _some_ money, but it'll be more expensive when I keel over into a coma and require medical attention because of this stinging cold. Or maybe he wouldn't give a rat's ass and try to get Ike to resuscitate me, because that's a far cheaper alternative than taking me to the ER. I thought he of all people would be fine with paying for the heating - or cooling, whatever the hell it was called - utilities regardless. Then again, he's not that one freezing his ass of in the room. His cure for that were some unspeakable actions with Mom that I'd really rather not be think about right.

I accidentally kick off one of my socks in midst my rolling closer to the slim crevasse between my wall and bed. Somehow that always happens, much to my avail. And somehow, the damn sock would probably find its way into the ravine formed by my bed and wall, along with the tens of hundreds of other socks that I've been too lazy to rescue. It's a wonder how my room doesn't reek of sock smell. I guess I have to thank my mom for magically keeping the house smell good.

Disgruntled, I let out an audible sigh, not signaling my frustrations to anyone in particular. I amaze myself by how irritable I can get whenever I'm cold, although Cartman would argue back no matter the weather and conditions, I would always be the pissiest Jew he knew; I'd _always_ be pissy. His fatass claims only instigated my irritability. It's only logical how on edge I am around him and it's something I've grown up with. It eventually integrated itself into my daily life. How sad.

Thinking about the most annoying person I've ever known isn't aiding my mood at all. I feel around for my cellphone, discovering its hiding spot under a small pillow near my head. I flip open the device in hopes I'll find some messages to distract me from this displeasing mood.

The first one that pops up is from Kenny that was sent over two hours ago at ten twenty-two. It read:

_"hey theres some hot chicks at raisins you should come!"_

The typical Kenny-message manages to evoke a weak-hearted laugh from me. I don't bother replying, knowing that if I did, he'd call me immediately and urge me to come; what worries me is what version of the word "come" he would insist on me doing. Either way, the best method to respond to this is by simply doing nothing at all. Sorry Kenny, it's too late for me to deal with your perverse nonsense, as amusing as it is.

I move on to the second message that was sent twenty minutes after Kenny's. It was some an unknown number:

_"u hav a nice ass ;)))"_

Without thinking, I delete it on impulse. The multiple parenthesis on the smiley face reminded me of one of Cartman's many chins (I exaggerate; he's lost a considerable amount of weight since elementary school, though he's still a husky and fatass douche). I can only guess it was Kenny texting me from some girl's number; maybe it was from one of the ones he had been goggling at prior to this message. If that's the case, I slightly regret deleting it. It would have been something funny to look back on.

Quickly, I move to the next message sent at ten forty. It was from Cartman. I don't bother reading it and skip straight to the next message.

It's another one from Kenny sent two minutes after Cartman's.

_"dont listen to fatass"_

Damnit Kenny, now I _have_ to read what Cartman sent. I, with disdain, go to Cartman's message prior to Kenny's.

_"the chick kenny was hitting on turned out to be a dude with long hair! HAH"_

Okay, I admit, that's pretty damn funny, only due to the fact that Kenny has had shit luck with the ladies lately. I'm not bashing on guys with long hair because I've seen some some that can pull it off, I just find it terribly funny that this would happen to Kenny of all people.

There's only one message left, which is from Token, sent at eleven. Weird. I don't really talk to him much, except for homework about one advanced placement class we share together. I open it.

_"Sorry to bother you so late. Is our essay due tomorrow?"_

Finally, a _normal_ text message. I bring my other hand that was tucked underneath my stomach for warmth to my phone in order to reply at an efficient speed.

_"It's okay dude. And yeah it's due tomorrow."_

I glance at the time before sending the message. It's twelve forty. I add another segment to the message.

_"Well today actually."_

Satisfied, I hit the glowing "send" button on my phone and close it, tossing it onto the floor. I really shouldn't be up this late on a Tuesday night (or Wednesday morning; I don't know what the hell to call it). Usually I'd study or read a book in these situations, but I don't have the patience or attention span to dedicate to such activities.

I roll to my side into a fetal position and hug my sides. Goddamn it; it's absolutely freezing.

I lay there nestled on my bed for a good ten minutes on the verge of sleeping when my phone rings. I mumble incoherently and slide to the cold edge of my bed. Stretching my arm to the ground, I feel around the ground until my hand finally makes contact with the blazing loud object and reel it back up to where I was.

I roll back into my warm spot, but during my short absence the place didn't retain its cozy warmth. I don't bother to check who's calling and answer rather groggily.

"Hello?"

"Yo, Kyle!" I could recognize that upbeat voice anywhere. I smile slightly.

"Hey Stan."

"What's up?"

"Trying to sleep. I haven't been able to tonight."

"But it's only like, twelve." His lively voice contrasts with my dull, tired one.

"I know, but I don't feel like doing anything. Just one of those moods."

"I see, I see. Why didn't you come with us today?" He sounds rather disappointed.

"I had to study. I've got a math test in two days."

"Who the hell studies for math?"

"Me. Remember I was absent for three days last week from whatever-the-hell-sickness Kenny gave me? I have to cover what I missed."

"Oh, right. Well, did you get some studying done?"

"…no," I reply rather shamefully.

"Oh man! The great-and-mighty-Kyle is going to cram!"

"Shut up dude," I laugh. "It's not like I do it all the time like you."

"Hey man, I'm not as bad as Cartman. Or Kenny."

"True."

We share a rather comfortable silence, something we're used to.

I finally speak up, "I'm tired."

"I know you are."

'I can't sleep."

"I know you can't."

"I want to sleep," I groan into the phone.

"Even if I hung up, you probably won't be able to."

"I was on the verge of doing so until you called." I can hear him laugh on the other line. That fucker.

"Yeah, right. I believe you though."

"Just let me sleep. I seriously need some."

"Alright, I'll let you go. You need anything?"

"What?"

"You know, you need anything to help you sleep?"

I pause for a brief interval, possibly wondering what could help. As if he could, I joke to myself. Laughing, I answer him, "Something to hug. My dad cancelled the heat so we have no heat in this damn house."

"Christ, again?"

"Again?"

"Remember dude? He refused to turn on the air conditioning during summer last year."

I almost forgot about that; Stan makes up for remembering the things I don't. The bridge of my nose cringes, suddenly recalling at the memory of how hot and painful that summer was. "I was busy trying to suppress that awful memory, no thanks to you."

"At least you have something fun to look back on."

"That isn't the word I'd use."

"Whatever dude. Open your window, alright?"

"What?"

"Open your window!"

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

A bit weirded out, I sit up, scoot to the window, and open it with my free hand, the other one still holding my phone.

I curse at the immense wave of gelid air that whips my face. I wish I was wearing my hat.

"Hey Kyle!"

"Jew boy!"

"Yo!"

I close my phone and toss it back on my bed. Rigidly shivering, I lean on the window's sill and stare down at my trio of friends: Stan, Eric, and Kenny.

"What are you all doing here?" I hiss at them, paranoid I'll wake Ike or my parents up if I talk a degree too loud.

"We got bored!" Cartman cups his hands over his mouth to amplify his harsh whispers. As if he needed to. I could hear that fatass from miles away.

"That's a terrible explanation!"

"Why didn't you reply to our messages?" Kenny asks.

"I just checked my phone. Sorry." Well, that was _partly_ true.

"Stupid Jew, not bothering to check his phone."

I don't have the patience to deal with Cartman at this hour, so I move my gaze to Stan, who looks too content for someone standing out in this blasted cold weather. I notice he's hugging something against his chest. What is that?

"Catch!" Stan chucks the object up at me, and thankfully I'm awake enough to catch it.

"You needed something to hug, right?" Stan looks at me rather contritely. It's easy to tell he feels bad about waking me up and forcing me to talk to them in this blasted cold. After being together for nearly our whole lives, these sorts of things are only natural to pick up on. I look at what he gave me and grin like a doofus. It's a giant stuffed animal owl, one I had been eyeing at the museum we all went to the other day.

"You guys actually got me this?"

"Yeah, we bought it after Kenny vomited out a shit ton of root beer on the ground. You should have seen it!"

Kenny crosses his arms and shakes his head. "I got five bucks out of it. Worth it."

"Yeah, and I bet you'd totally crawl up and live in a woman's vagina for fun," Cartman jokes. Kenny just creepily smiles in response.

Stan returns his attention to me. "Get to sleep! It's spaghetti and turkey casserole day."

Oh god no, not that. I groan out of pure disgust. We needed energy to tolerate the abomination that creates horrific smells, otherwise we'd die of its putrid attacks. For some reason, our high school manages to make the most foulest smelling of foods. I can't quite put my finger on how they manage to concoct such repulsive meals.

"Screw you guys, that shit's good!" Cartman bellows.

"Hell yeah! Food is food," Kenny agrees.

"Stan, we're eating outside tomorrow. There's no way I'm going to sit and stew in that cafeteria.

"Fine with me," he replies.

"Oh! Stan and Kyle all alone! What romantic situations will they get themselves into this time?" Cartman begins to make smooching faces. "The lovers getaway on a romantic date-"

"-and Kenny jumps in to make it a fucking threesome!" Kenny triumphantly waves his arms in the air. I think he's drunk off of not being able to hit on girls for the past week.

"Christ Kenny no! And that goes for you too Cartman!" Stan scolds them. I can't help but laugh at their antics, even if it involved a threesome which sounds fucking gross. Hell, banging my best friend didn't sound like the most sanitary thing either, but I'll admit, it wasn't something I haven't though about. I'm a perverse growing teenage boy anyway, what's there not to imagine?

"Guys lets get going, it's getting late!" I can count on Stan to make these bastards leave my yard.

"Yeah, I need to get home anyway. Mr. Kitty is waiting for me with a bag of Cheesy Poofs."

"Fatty," Stan, Kenny, and I blandly say in unison. Cartman turns to me to pick on, however.

"Kyle's gonna sleep with a stuffed animal! What a pussy!"

"Shut it lard bucket!" I shout a bit too loud. A few seconds later, I can hear a door open and footsteps creeping down the hall. There's this one spot in our hallway that never fails to creak loudly if stepped on. I look back outside and wave to the three stooges below. "Shit, someone's up guys. See you all tomorrow."

They all understand and nod, knowing if it's my mom that's been woken up, they don't want to be around to get their ears chewed off. The only one that can get away with being up this late with me is Stan because my mom adores him to no end.

The trio waves to me and walks down the sidewalk until they blend with the night. I close and lock my windows and scramble to hide under the sheets, dragging my new stuffed animal with me. I roll on my side to face the wall away from the door, hugging the owl tightly. It's surprisingly warm. Stan did a good job of keeping it that way.

My door cracks open and I mentally thank whoever opened it for the fact they didn't turn the hall light on.

"Kyle?" A light voice whispers.

"Ike?" I roll to my other side, leaving the owl by the wall, and look at my little brother who looked like he was going to pass out at any moment. "Shit dude, did I wake you up?"

"A little bit. I had to pee," he smiles. I haven't a fucking clue as to _why_ he's smiling. Maybe he feels accomplished for finally braving the "scary hallway" he's been so frightened of. I thought a kid as smart as him would be more logical than that, but I have to remember he _is_ a kid. I was a pretty ridiculous kid myself, waiting for singing Christmas poo and somewhat believing in underpants gnomes.

"Sorry about that." I resist the urge to scratch the back of my hatless head as an apologetic gesture. As weird as it sounds, that's become a strange habit of mine around Ike.

"It's okay Kyle. You're lucky you have such good friends," Ike's smile grows. "I hope I some like that too when I'm your age."

"You're making me sound like an old hag," I tease him.

"Well, you kind of are. What are you? Seventeen? Sixteen?"

"Shut up. Something like that."

He laughs, "Don't worry Kyle, you've always been old to me, but somehow the same age."

"I guess I'm not forever young then. Go to bed Ike; it's getting late."

"Okay. Night Kyle!" He yawns before closing the door, finally exiting my room.

Good friends, huh?

I roll back over to face the wall, and take a good look at the owl the three gave me. Even though Stan could have afforded this by himself, I know Cartman and Kenny chipped in. Cartman would want to feel like he contributed (something besides the "Fuck-I-hate-Kyle" fund) and Kenny, well, Kenny would have just pitched in the five dollars he got for whatever the hell he did with that root beer earlier.

I hear my phone go off again, but it doesn't irritate me as much this time. The text message ring sounds three times in a row. I snatch it and flip it open, planning for this to be the last time I answer the satanic device before sleeping. I read the three messages separately, all sent within seconds ago.

"y_ou better sleep with that stupid owl kyle! you owe me some of your jew gold." _Typical Cartman. And I was right about him chipping in. Bastard had a heart after all.

_"come with us next time to raisins screw hw! nite Kyle!"_ Kenny actually bothered to capitalize something this time.

_"sleep well Kyle! see you tomorrow! PS Cartman sucks."_ The last part of the message makes me smile.

I turn my phone to silent, flip it shut, and toss it onto the floor, knowing it won't get damaged one way or another.

I close my eyes and hug the owl. Screw age. No one can ever be too old for stuffed animals. I gradually get sleepier, my mind drifting to various thoughts. I think of the stupid math test I have in a day and how my friends will complain about how they need more time for homework they procrastinated on. I think of all the stupid adventures we went on as kids and how we still do at our age. I think of all the great time we've had together, and will have together.

And within seconds, I fall asleep, finally feeling warm and comfortable at last. I guess I don't need the heater after all.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. <em>


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